


Gun Control

by afterandalasia



Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)
Genre: Canon Universe, Community: disney_kink, Gunplay, M/M, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rourke decides to warn the mouthy linguist about his insubordination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gun Control

**Author's Note:**

> From the [anon prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=2223977#t2223977) at the Disney Kink Meme.

Rourke has always been pleased to have the reputation of being impossible to surprise. In some ways, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy: people think that they will never be able to surprise him, and so do not really put effort into doing so.  
  
Just occasionally, however, people do not _realise_ that he is unshockable. And that is when you get people like Milo Thatch. Uncontrollable slips of boys who spend too much time with their noses in books, too much time arguing, and too little time in the real world. The last of those is, Rourke must presume, the reason that he spends most of his time answering back instead of doing as he is damn well told.  
  
Within just a couple of weeks it has become, frankly, unbearable. Having him give directions was one thing; having him give _bad_ directions was another.  
  
That fool Thatch can't even put up his own tent. Rourke glares, but waits for the camp to settle in to the quiet of night. At least they do not need to worry about putting up guards, here in this dead, rocky world.   
  
Rourke waits until nightfall. It's easy, really. Almost everyone here is loyal to him -- or at least to the money he promises -- and Thatch is naive. He is sound asleep when Rourke slips into his tent, wraps a hand over his mouth, and hauls him away from the camp and the hearing of the others.  
  
Muffled, sleepy sounds come from behind the hand clamped over Milo's face, but Rourke ignores them. "Best keep it down, Mr Thatch. You don't want the others to be coming running, now, do you?"  
  
More rumbling protests. With a roll of his eyes, Rourke pushes Milo up against the stone wall of the tunnel, silencing anything further with the barrel of a gun pressed to the base of the linguist's neck.  
  
Ah. _There_ is the silence. It is all the more gratifying after listening to weeks of babbling.  
  
"There we are. Isn't that better?"  
  
He traces the barrel up and down the curve of Milo's neck, where the contours of his vertebrae are visible. Of course, the gun is not loaded -- nothing in the chamber, no magazine in place -- but, of course, Thatch does not know that. Can't risk damaging their way out of here.  
  
"What are you _doing_ -?" Milo begins to protest, but Rourke tilts the gun just slightly.  
  
"I'll ask the questions, Mr. Thatch."  
  
The tip of the barrel fits perfectly into the tender spot below the boy's ear, just behind his jaw. Rourke can see the tremor that runs through Milo, no matter that he tries to hide it, and it makes him smile to himself. And not just _smile_ , either; it's been a while now since he's had the opportunity for sex, and he can feel himself hardening. The way that Milo squirms doesn't help; he clearly wants to run, but the fear rolling off him is almost palpable.  
  
Abruptly, he drops the gun down, slipping it beneath the untucked tails of Milo's shirt. The barrel will still be cold against the skin he lets it run over, slowly warming with body heat. Where Rourke's fingers brush against skin as well, he can feel the goosebumps prickling Milo's body.  
  
"You see..." he leant forward to breathe into Milo's ear, because a whisper is so much more powerful than a shout. "You've been a problem one too many times. So I figured-" he jabbed the barrel sharply into Milo's kidneys, to hear him gasp "-maybe it's time I gave you a slightly _clearer_ warning. You need to learn to behave, Mr. Thatch."  
  
He wants to turn the boy around and put the gun to his lips, see if he can make him suck it. Watch tongue trace over metal, see if his lips still tremble in fear. But Rourke has nothing if he does not have self-control, and as gratifying as that would be, this is not the time. Later he will be able to think back on it, to imagine what it would have been like to see Milo on the end of a gun, lips parted to take it, but now is not the time. No matter how pressing the increasing confinement of his pants is becoming.  
  
"Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir."

Never has he heard the word 'sir' from these lips. The sound of it sends a thrill straight through him, and he scrapes the gun down Milo's back hard enough that there will be a mark, a reminder, which only they will know is there.  
  
"Good."  
  
Rourke settles for that one word, letting it remain loaded with meaning, with warning. Finally, he lets the gun slide out from under Milo's shirt, hearing a sigh of relief as the cool metal leaves. He spares a glance: he is so used to guns that they are usually little more than a form of tool, a way to... remove obstacles, one might say. Yes, he rather likes that phrase.  
  
"Now get back to your tent." Before the threat diminishes, or before Rourke yields to the desire to do something else, even he is not sure. "And don't forget what I said."  
  
Without even a word -- quite the achievement in itself -- Milo makes good his opportunity for escape. Rourke watches him stumble over rocks for a while, until he disappears back to the camp, and then shakes his head.  
  
That boy will be the death of him at this rate.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [When Negotiations Go Sour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945887) by [InTheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheSky/pseuds/InTheSky)




End file.
